


Acceptance

by Goldenheartedrose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autistic!Sherlock, Bisexual John, Demisexual Sherlock, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, PTSD John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenheartedrose/pseuds/Goldenheartedrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knew he loved John.  What he never expected was to love Mary, too - or that both of them would love him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock had been asleep for approximately sixteen of the last 24 hours.  This wasn’t a fact that concerned John, not really.  After all, Sherlock was prone to such behaviour after a case, especially if the case was overly difficult or trying in some way.  He would often go without sleep or food during a case until it was solved, and then overindulge afterwards, as though he were recharging literal batteries.

 

This case had been tough.  It was difficult physically and mentally, of course, but there was also an emotional and psychological element that made it even more difficult than most of the cases Sherlock had taken on.  To Sherlock, it had been just another kidnapping case, one that seemed fairly simple on the surface. John thought otherwise.

 

John and Mary had gladly tagged along at Sherlock’s request, as they often did.  Sherlock found them to both be valuable assets to his work, though he wouldn’t admit this fact readily - sentimentality, of course.  

 

John noticed the similarities almost immediately, and he felt like the floor had dropped out from under him.  The kidnapping of two siblings, one boy, one girl, this time from a hospital and not a boarding school, but even so - it wasn’t that different from the case that had led to Sherlock’s arrest a good three years ago.  The similarities were striking, and John found it difficult to breathe.

 

Sherlock had found John in a quiet corner of the hospital, head in his hands, breath unsteady, with Mary at his side looking worried, whispering a mantra of "That's right, John.  Just breathe.  You're okay."  Sherlock, while not a complete idiot about emotional matters, still wasn’t quite up to speed with other people’s understanding of matters of the heart.  He did, however, understand puzzles, and right now, John was a puzzle.  He took a step back from the scene, because John’s emotional reaction was _distracting_.  And that is where people got it wrong when it came to Sherlock.  It wasn’t so much that he didn’t understand emotion or that he didn’t care; Sherlock was so overwhelmed and affected by other people’s emotions that he had to shut it all out in order to be able to do what he did.  

 

Sherlock stepped back and considered. _John_. John was panicking, reliving, thinking about something else - something similar, but not the same.  He examined the scene and the metaphorical light bulb went off in his head. The girl and the boy, the drugged children, the girl that had screamed - John was thinking about the last case before Sherlock had….before he had…

 

Not even _Sherlock_ could bring himself to finish that sentence in his head.  He’d crouched down in front of John, who had buried his head against Mary’s shoulder, and he laid his head in John’s lap.  ”I’m sorry,” he rasped out, his heart pounding out of his chest.  ”I’m sorry. This was too much — I didn’t realize….”  he trailed off as John’s breaths became steadier and he began to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.  

 

"Shhh," John said eventually.  "It’s fine.  It’s okay.  I just needed a moment. I saw — nevermind, you’re the genius.  You _know_ what I saw."

 

"John," he breathed out, feeling relieved that John didn’t blame him, but certainly waves of guilt as well.  "You can go home, if you want.  I can finish up here."  

 

John shook his head.  ”No,” he said, clearing his throat and sharing a significant look with Mary, one of those married looks that Sherlock found so irritatingly confusing with its intimacy and nonverbal language.  ”No.  I’m fine.  I’ll be fine.”

 

And it had been.  The jealous ex-husband had been caught, and the children were on their way to a speedy recovery as Sherlock wrapped up the case. And of course, as it was so often nowadays, it was Mary who figured out who the real culprit was.

 

Sherlock didn’t know how to feel about Mary, not at first.  He’d always been so envious of John’s girlfriends - not because they were vying for John’s affections, but because they were so boring.  John deserved someone who cared about him, someone who was on his intellectual level.  The closest he’d come thus far was Sarah, and as it turned out, she didn’t really have the stomach for being kidnapped and threatened.

 

Mary Morstan was something completely different. She was quiet and kind, but sure of herself.  She hadn’t allowed Sherlock to waltz back into John’s life as demanding as he ever was.  She was never controlling, but she stood her ground.  Sherlock found him admiring her for that.

 

And in the end, he _did_ have a place back in John’s life.  It wasn’t all that different from where it was before, but he had another person to share it with - Mary - and he couldn’t say that he exactly minded much.

 

****

 

"Is he still asleep?"

 

John jolted out of his reverie at Mary’s words and the kiss just below his ear. “Ah, yes. Out like a light.”

 

John turned to kiss her softly. "Thank you," he said, quiet reverence in his voice.

 

Mary raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

 

And this - this is part of what made John Watson love Mary Morstan. She was so thoughtful, so kind, in a way that was not threatening, not demanding. The best part is that was simply her nature, not something she did consciously. She was spectacular.

 

"For this. For all of us. For understanding." There had been no shortage of emotional turmoil when Sherlock had returned from the dead. He'd felt angry, then relieved, and then he'd felt so very betrayed. Mary had done nothing but stay by his side, allowing him to process how he felt, but quietly urging him to talk to Sherlock when he was ready to do so." It took less time than anyone suspected for John Watson to forgive Sherlock Holmes.

 

Once John understood what Sherlock had done - once he really understood the gravity of the situation, John's heart softened a bit with the knowledge of the emotions that he hadn't suspected that Sherlock had possessed. Forgiveness had morphed into affection, which had become love, something that John felt immense guilt over. He loved Mary. He was going to marry her. But he loved Sherlock and thanked deities he didn't even believe in that Sherlock was alive.

 

As it turned out, John's fears turned out to be irrelevant. After a tedious afternoon of John pacing their small flat, she cornered him and placed her small hands on his biceps. "John, darling? What's wrong?"

 

John had turned his gaze to the floor. "I think I've gone and fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes."

 

To Mary's credit, she didn't laugh. She definitely didn't scorn him. She simply kissed his cheek. "I know."

 

John started at this information and looked into her eyes. "How?" He asked.

 

She sighed. "Love, when I met you, you were seriously broken up. I've not known anyone to feel a loss so greatly unless they really really loved the person." John opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand. "I didn't say that love was romantic, mind you. Especially when you keep vehemently defending your heterosexuality." He rolled his eyes at this.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him. "I'm sure he knows, and I'd bet 50 quid that he loves you too."

 

The guilt that had crept up on John hadn't subsided with the knowledge that Mary had presented. John's face remained pained as he asked, "What now?"

 

"Now you tell him. "

 

"What about us? I love you, Mary."

 

"I know you do. But what does that have to do with how you feel about Sherlock?"

 

John did not splutter.  Well, okay, maybe he did - a bit.  Mary continued to surprise him, a little more each day.  This was not at all the response he expected to receive to his confession.  "But - I don't really understand."

 

"You love me.  I know you do.  You also happen to be in love with Sherlock.  Why do those have to be opposing forces?" She looked at him intently, her smile wide and eyes twinkling.  "You can love more than one person at a time.  Monogamy is overrated."

 

John laughed then, a real laugh full of joy, one reminiscent of a schoolboy.  "You are a treasure," he said, placing his hands on her cheeks and kissing her.

 

Mary grinned, kissing him back and running her fingers down his sides.  "He saved your life.  Brought you to me.  How could I possibly make you choose?" She shrugged.  "I like him. I think he's wonderful."

 

John grinned at that, the ache that had threatened to fill his chest only moments ago was gone, replaced by something new and lovely.

 

***

 

"I don't want you to fuck me," Sherlock had said when John told him that he loved him.  

 

John had actually choked on his tea as he tried to respond to that.  He blinked hard.  "I didn't ask --"

 

"No, but that usually follows the words 'I love you,' in my experience."

 

John shook his head.  "I assumed from previous discussions that you weren't particularly interested in sex."

 

"I'm not."

 

"Then I don't see the problem, Sherlock."

 

"You like sex.  You find me sexually attractive."

 

"Yes,  yes, I do.  But we don't have to --"

 

"You'll get bored.  Most people find relationships without sex to be boring."

 

"I won't."

 

"You will.  But I suppose maybe that's the benefit of being in a relationship with more than one other person, isn't it? But what if that isn't enough, John?"

 

Sherlock pulled his dressing gown around him and curled his feet under himself on the couch.  John sat next to him and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair affectionately.  Sherlock relaxed into the touch, the tension ebbing away slowly.

 

"Sherlock, you will always be enough," John said quietly.

 

Sherlock turned slightly, so he could press his face against John's chest.  Damn.  Sentiment.  A feeling of warmth spread throughout his body as John's unoccupied arm circled around his shoulders.  He could feels his eyes burn with unbidden tears.  The cotton of John's shirt was damp and he cursed himself for being so damn weak.

 

This was new, though. _Acceptance.Understanding_.  John had been different from the beginning of their friendship.  But he hadn't really understood what Sherlock needed, and here it was, practically dropped into his lap.  John would love him.  John wouldn't demand something he couldn't give.  He understood Sherlock's limitations and he wouldn't push those beyond what they could bear.  

 

When Sherlock finally dared to look up, John smiled and brushed his thumb over Sherlock's cheek, wiping away the remaining tears.  He lay gentle, soft kisses on Sherlock's cheek, and Sherlock felt his heart stutter in his chest.  He ran his fingers over the back of John's neck, feeling the hair rise.  He drew his own face closer to John's and darted forward to press his lips against John's.  

 

In that moment, it was as though 35 years of tormenting and bullying and being called a freak simply...dissipated, and his heart began to beat a rhythm of _John.John.John._

 

The look of pleased surprise on John's face when Sherlock broke the kiss morphed into one of concern when he took in Sherlock's face.  "Are you okay?" John asked.  "That wasn't too much?"

 

Sherlock shook his head.  "No. I --" he cleared his throat. "I love you."

 

The thing was, Sherlock somehow knew that he'd always loved John, in one way or another.  He hadn't identified it as such before his -- his fall.  But it had been there all the same.  

 

What Sherlock hadn't expected, however, was that he would love Mary, too.

 

He expected to be jealous of Mary, expected to be jealous for John's attention, and to dislike Mary because she took John away from him.

 

Mary did none of those things.  She accompanied John and Sherlock to crime scenes, and she was generous with her affection. Everyone loved Mary, even Lestrade, who chided Sherlock for bringing "another tag along - no offense, John."  Mary had done nothing but smirk at him when he said _that._  

 

And when Sherlock had worried about how this relationship was going to work - because, after all, he'd previously found a way to have John all to himself (never mind that it was because he kept running off all of John's girlfriends), Mary had been the voice of reason.  

 

"We'll just move back in.  I mean," she clarified, "John and I will move into the room he used to occupy."  Such a simple solution, really.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hasn't ever felt close enough to anyone to show them significant physical affection. Both John and Mary turn out to be quite the exception, as he explores his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely Brynncognito, who betaed part of this for me.
> 
> Also, please note the change in the rating due to this chapter's sexual content.

It was about three in the afternoon when Sherlock finally returned the land of the living.  He was clad in his pyjamas and blue dressing gown, and he ruffled his hair as he drifted the kitchen.  He didn’t speak a word  until he had peered into the refrigerator,  grabbing an apple before sinking down onto the couch, where Mary and John were cuddled up watching what appeared to be a Bond film.

 

Sherlock poked John with his elbow.  “Mmmph, scoot over.”  He lay his head against John’s shoulder, as John complied with his demand.  

 

John smiled affectionately and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, muttering something that sounded like "Bloody octopus, you are" before he greeted Sherlock with a "Morning, sleepyhead.”

 

Sherlock scoffed at him.  "It's most decidedly not morning. Goodness, John, even you must know that."

 

John simply laughed and Mary leaned over to pat Sherlock on the cheek lightly. "Figure of speech, Sherlock,” she said, and Sherlock shivered at her touch.  “Sorry,” she apologized, noting his expression.

 

“No, it’s -- it’s fine.  It’s good.” And it was.  Sherlock hadn’t really been exposed to much physical affection prior to this, not even from John.  They had shared friendly touches and brushes against each other as they passed each other in the kitchen, but for touch to be conscious, to be so intentional was _new_.

 

When John had told Sherlock his feelings toward him, and Sherlock realized that his own feelings were reciprocated, well, of course he expected that he and John would become something more (though he’d been unable to put a word to that - boyfriends? Not quite).  He’d expected that all those forbidden touches would become more common, and he accepted that.

 

What Sherlock had found most surprising was how much _Mary_ truly loved him as well.  Her gentle, soft touches were not uncommon, though they were a pleasant surprise.  She ruffled his hair in the mornings, placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and stretched up to wrap her arms around him when he needed it.  If Sherlock had trouble coming up with a term for _John_ , he had double the difficulty finding words for the nature of his relationship with _Mary_.

 

Before the pair of them, Sherlock hadn’t been anything, with anybody.  And now he had not one, but two people in his life who loved him unconditionally.  He reorganized his Mind Palace in order to accommodate such a change.

 

“I thought you would be out -- aren’t Saturdays typically the day that you go to the movies?” Sherlock asked,  stifling another yawn.

 

Mary shrugged. “We figured a day in would be nice. Just relaxing, after -- well, yesterday was fairly horrid for all of us, wouldn’t you say?”

 

 _Ah. The case_. Sherlock looked briefly to John, who flushed with embarrassment.  Even though what happened the day prior hadn't been discussed, John knew that Sherlock would know what Mary meant.  He and Mary might have some sort of married telepathy that Sherlock didn’t understand, but it was _Sherlock_ and Mary who had a dozen nonverbal conversations a day - only some of which he understood.

 

“I’m fine, Sherlock,” John said after a moment too long under Sherlock’s scrutiny.  “Stop worrying.”

 

“I was an idiot, John.  I should have seen what that scene would have looked like to you - should have connected the pieces together quicker,” Sherlock reasoned.  He had brought his knees up to his chest and was gently rocking forward in a rhythmic pattern, and his words came quickly .

 

John reached out a hand, hesitating before actually touching Sherlock's hand. Sherlock nodded and he began to stroke a thumb over Sherlock's knuckles. “I know.  It’s not your fault, Sherlock.  You aren’t meant to solve everything - especially not people.  You can’t solve people.”

 

“I know that’s hard to digest,” Mary said softly, her voice kind but firm.  “You want to find the problem and you want to fix it.  That’s what you do - you solve people’s problems, you find the murderer and you call Lestrade.  You tell the man that his wife is cheating on him. You deduce people’s secrets.  But you cannot fix _people_. It’s been years since -- well, since you jumped, and both of you had your own demons to fight after that happened. I think you still do, really. ”  

 

Sherlock was quiet for a long time.  He’d stopped rocking in favor of going completely still, not unlike a statue.  He still didn’t know how Mary could understand so much about the pair of them.  He knew that John had tells, but _he_ didn’t - at least none that were obvious to most people.  Of course, Mary certainly didn’t fall into the category of “most people."

 

“Sherlock?” John spoke first, snapping Sherlock out of his reverie.  

 

Sherlock blinked and rubbed his thumb against his middle finger, staring straight ahead and not looking at anything in particular.  “Mmm?”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Fine, John.  I’m just fine.”

 

“Liar.” John smirked and Sherlock couldn’t help but smile just slightly. “Come here.”  

 

Sherlock inched closer, and felt his heart rate quicken as John reached out and ran his fingers through his curls.  He looked like a wreck, he knew, his pyjamas wrinkled, his hair disheveled, sleep in his eyes, and it still didn't matter.  John might prod him if he went too many days without a shower, but he never worried much about Sherlock’s complete and utter lack of care when it came to his physical appearance when he was at home.

 

John leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, burying his nose in the crook of his neck.  He breathed in the scent that he'd come to know as specifically _Sherlock_ and his tongue darted out, curiosity getting the better of him.  He had to know what Sherlock tasted like right there.  Sherlock’s full body shudder was answer enough to tell him how he felt about that.  “Mmm,” Sherlock sighed. “‘s nice.”

 

After a moment, John broke the contact and looked up into those glasz eyes, pupils larger than they'd been before.

 

“Perhaps some more, then?” Sherlock nodded and he leaned up to kiss him properly.  The first brush of John's lips was light, just warm lips pressed firmly against his own.  Then Sherlock’s tongue darted out to lick against his bottom lip, and Sherlock couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips.

 

Sherlock was flushed, too, his heart hammering in his chest, a warmth spreading through his body that was so foreign he didn't know what to do with it.

 

“John, I --” He looked away, embarrassed, unsure of what to say.  “I -- I haven’t ever..”

 

John took Sherlock’s hand and kissed his knuckles.  “It’s okay.  It’s fine.  It’s all fine.  Whatever you want --”

 

“I don’t - I don’t know what I want.”

 

“That’s fine. Normal, even. Sorry,” he apologized, as he took in Sherlock’s expression at the word _normal_.  “Nothing average about you, love.  Just, it’s…natural to feel hesitant in an unfamiliar situation.”

 

Mary ran her fingers down John’s back, and he shivered. “Maybe you'd like to go somewhere you’re more comfortable.  Our room? Or perhaps yours?” she suggested.

 

“Yours,” Sherlock agreed. Mary just nodded, knowing that was the wisest decision.  If Sherlock got overwhelmed, he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about kicking them out of his own room.  He’d simply retreat to his room to deal with his emotions.

 

Sherlock rushed on ahead of the pair and when Mary and John arrived, they found him settled in the middle of their king sized bed.  His blue dressing gown was tied tightly around his waist, and his knees were pressed up tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees.  John settled in on his left hand side, and Mary settled in on his right.  John thought that Sherlock looked a little bit like a frightened child, curled up like that.  John and Mary shared a significant look, worry clear in their faces.

 

John was the first to speak.  “We don’t have to do anything, Sherlock. Especially anything you aren't entirely comfortable with.”

 

Sherlock scoffed at his words.  “I assure you, you needn’t worry about my _virtue_.”

 

John stifled a laugh.  “That isn’t what I meant, Sherlock.  I meant, if you just want to...rest here,” his brain supplied, “that’s fine.  I don’t have any expectations.  We don’t have any expectations,” he said, Mary nodding in agreement.  He was going to say “cuddle”, but he knew what Sherlock’s reaction had been last time he’d used the term, and he certainly didn’t want a repeat of _that_ experience.

 

“I’m fine,” Sherlock reassured them.  “I’m fine,” he repeated, a bit dramatically.  “This is just --” he waved his hand in the air, as though he were searching for something that eluded him.

 

Mary supplied what he was looking for.  “New?” she suggested, placing a hand on the small of his back.  Sherlock visibly relaxed into her gentle touch.

 

“Yes.  New.  It’s good.  But I find myself anxious.  Why should I be anxious? That doesn’t make any logical sense, given the fact that I trust both of you implicitly.”

 

Mary smiled and placed a kiss on his cheek.  “That’s natural.  Especially when it comes to lack of experience.”

 

Sherlock flushed.  The thing about Mary was that she had such an _uncanny_ ability to read Sherlock and to lay him bare, so much more than John ever was.  But she was never as crass or rude as he himself usually was, and somehow that astounded him.  There existed a person in his life who had all the intellect that he had, and yet was so very kind about showing people their weaknesses.  

 

John cleared his throat, circumventing Sherlock getting too lost in his head.  “So you’re not sure what you want.  But you liked the kissing.”  Sherlock nodded and he continued.  “But there might be times where you feel overwhelmed, but it might not always be a bad thing. Just speaking from experience.  If you say ‘wait’, we’ll stop until you’re ready.  But if you want to be done with everything, if something is uncomfortable and you want it to stop, just say ‘stop’ and we will. Does that sound reasonable?”

 

Sherlock nodded.  “That seems amenable enough.”  He reached over and slid his hand over the nape of John’s neck, and John let out a soft sound.  He pivoted onto his knees toward John, warm breath ghosting across his lips as he surged forward and pressed his lips against John’s.

 

The first contact of their lips made Sherlock shiver, and he tightened his fingers into John’s hair.  John pressed his chest against Sherlock’s, his fingers running down Sherlock’s side.  The force of his touch was electric, and Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth.

 

Sherlock’s heart pounded in his chest and wanted _more_.  He found in himself a strange desire; he wanted John pressed up against him, as much of John touching as much of him as humanly possible.  He momentarily broke their contact as he rearranged himself onto the pillows and then pulled John on top of him.  “I want more,” he said a little breathlessly.  “I want to feel your skin against mine.”  

 

John gasped, the contact of Sherlock’s body heating up his own blood.  Mary began unbuttoning John’s shirt, sliding it off his shoulders.  It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had seen his scar, but it was the first time he’d seen it so close in this kind of situation.  He’d assisted John in patching up wounds, but he’d not examined the scar up close, not admired it like he was right now.  The urge to press his lips up against it, to know what it felt like against his tongue was overwhelming.  He kissed it, firmly and felt the roughness of the puckered skin against his lips.  John shivered, and made a sound that wasn’t exactly a protest, but it was something that Sherlock couldn’t identify right away.

 

“Okay?” Sherlock asked.

 

“It’s...it’s fine. I don’t mind,” he clarified.

 

Then Sherlock was removing his own clothing, untying his dressing gown and throwing it down onto the floor, then pulling his plain t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the side.  He hadn’t ever been this unclothed in John’s presence before, certainly not since his return.  He hoped that right now, John wouldn’t look so closely at the stripes across his back, the scars that served as evidence for just how much he too suffered those two years.

 

John ran his fingers down Sherlock’s back and kissed the spot underneath Sherlock’s ear.  He felt the raised skin, the scars that likely had formed having never seen proper medical treatment.  He didn’t want to think about what that meant, about what had transpired all those months, years that he was without Sherlock.  Sherlock was in his arms now and _that_ mattered more than anything else.

 

Mary was their anchor.  She had the ability to keep them both from getting too lost in their heads, and right when John toppled into “thinking too much about this”, Mary scooted toward her fiance, kissing the back of his neck, and grazing her teeth down his spine.  John’s full body shudder was _glorious._

 

Sherlock fell back against the mattress again, and as John kissed that spot, that spot that John had figured out would turn his knees to jelly, he moaned long and loud and arched up into John’s touch.  “John,” he moaned, his voice low and needy.  “More, please.  More.”  Sherlock couldn’t articulate exactly what he wanted, but more contact with John’s body was certainly the answer to _that_ particular question.

 

John lined up his hips with Sherlock and began to move as he kissed Sherlock again, his tongue flicking against Sherlock’s, and Sherlock gasping into his mouth with how much he wanted.  John counted himself a very lucky man.  He would never have guessed that he would be allowed this, to be sandwiched between two people that loved him so very very much.  Mary was an extraordinary woman.  And Sherlock had proven to be an extraordinary man.

 

Sherlock kissed back with enthusiasm, and his own hand untied the drawstring on his pyjama pants and dipped below the hem.  John gasped as he felt Sherlock wanking himself as his own hips rolled against Sherlock.  Heat pooled in Sherlock’s groin and his face flushed, embarrassed at how quickly he knew this was going to be over.  “John, I --” he gasped, chest flushed and his hand moving quicker over his own cock.

 

John’s kisses had become more frantic as his own cock hardened. “It’s fine, love,” he reassured Sherlock.  “God, you are beautiful.”  He leaned down to flick his tongue over Sherlock’s nipple, and Sherlock hadn’t realized how very good that could feel until this moment.  His hips jerked and he craved more.  

 

“More, John,” he gasped.  “Please,” he was pleading now, and it was obvious how very desperate Sherlock was.  He might not have a name for these feelings, but they were good, and oh, he wanted John.  He wanted more.

 

John complied with enthusiasm, sucking on Sherlock’s right nipple and placing his other hand on Sherlock’s hip to steady him.  

 

Sherlock yelped, and nodded.  “Yes, oh John, yes.” Sherlock was nearly beyond words now, making small noises between breaths as he stroked his cock beneath his pants, his wrist twisting every time it reached the head.  

 

John moaned around Sherlock’s nipple.  “Fuck,” he said.  “Fuck, that’s gorgeous.”  Sherlock’s body went rigid, and he came, gasping John’s name.

 

John moved to the side, allowing Sherlock to catch his breath.  He lay there beside him for quite some time while Mary kissed John’s neck and rubbed his nipples between her fingers.  Somehow, in the midst of all of this, she had removed her own shirt, revealing that she’d not put on a bra today.  John’s eyelids were heavy with arousal  and he hummed in approval as she straddled him. He was hard beneath his pants and she ground down against him.

 

Their lazy grinding went on for a little while, and then Sherlock wiped off his hand and sighed contentedly.  He knew he was riding on the endorphins right now, and he would probably feel some form of anxiety later, but for now, his body felt endlessly pleasant and relaxed as he watched the pair of them.  “Don’t hold back on my account,” he said, and Mary laughed.

 

Mary stood up and took off the rest of her clothing, and Sherlock hummed softly in appreciation of her curves.  He’d not been attracted to women in the past, but he couldn’t deny how very beautiful she was.  He certainly saw the physical side of why John was attracted to her.  At the same time as this, John lifted his hips off the bed and slid his pants down and off, displaying his obscenely erect cock.  It wasn’t quite as long as Sherlock’s was, its hue slightly darker, but it was plumper, and Sherlock had to stifle the desire to take it into his mouth.  Where in the world had that thought come from? He wasn’t sure, and he’d have to evaluate that one later.  

 

Mary returned to the bed, and straddled his legs again.  She’d procured a condom from the bedside table in the time that she’d taken to undress, and she rolled it expertly down the shaft of John’s cock.  

 

“Gorgeous,” Sherlock said breathlessly.  

 

John smirked and kissed his cheek, before cupping Mary’s face and bringing her toward him for a deeper kiss.  

 

“Mmmph,” she moaned into his mouth.  She adjusted her hips so she was straddled right over him and she sunk down onto his cock.  

 

John’s reaction stirred something inside Sherlock, and though he wasn’t exactly hard again, he was on his way there. John and Mary seemed to be taking their time, their movements slow and practiced, amping up each other’s desire as they rocked their hips together in rhythm.  

 

Sherlock divested himself of his pants, and John had to close his eyes once he gazed at his still somewhat sticky cock, already half hard as he stroked himself.  He thought briefly that perhaps he should have felt nervous about the pair of them seeing him naked, pleasuring himself in their presence for the second time that afternoon, but he didn’t.  He’d grown so comfortable around them that this was just a new dimension of their relationship, and he didn’t find it odd at all.  

 

Mary gasped as she watched Sherlock rock his hips up into his tight fist. She reached down between her legs and rolled two fingers over her clitoris.  John’s thrusts sped up and she moaned softly as his rhythm began to falter.  “Yes,” she gasped.  “Come for me, love.”  

 

Sherlock couldn’t help the moan that escaped him as he watched John reach his peak.  John was panting and gasping for air.  He placed a hand over his chest as his heart pounded in his chest.  

 

“Fuck,” John said after a moment.  He stretched back up to help Mary chase her own orgasm, and he sucked on one of her nipples as he held on tightly to her hip.  She was so beautiful like this, face glistening with a sheen of perspiration, eyes bright and wide and full of _want_.  “Yes, oh, god, yes.”  He felt the first stirrings of her orgasm before they hit her, a slight contracting around his softening cock.  She rubbed her clit faster and harder as the force of the orgasm hit her.

 

Seconds later, they both gazed over at Sherlock, who was still furiously working at his cock, panting with need.  “John,” he moaned.  “Mary.  God...so beautiful…”  he gasped as he began to come, spurts of semen coating his belly and chest.  It wasn’t as plentiful as expected, but he _had_ just come twice in an hour.  He began wiping himself up with his t-shirt, trying to not think about how very exposed he was, how he’d never showed this much of himself - emotionally, physically, sexually - to another human being and now he’d done so to two people, the two people he cared the most for in the world.

 

“Out of there,” Mary said, tapping on the side of his skull.  Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and he caught her expression, one full of affection.  “It’s no good getting lost inside your head.”

 

Sherlock simply smiled at her.

 

After a few moments of what Sherlock refused to call  _cuddling_ , John stretched and yawned.  “I think maybe we should shower.  As lovely as this is, I think we might begin to stick to the sheets.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “Don’t be overdramatic, John. You just want an opportunity for shower sex.”

 

John guffawed.  “I don’t exactly have your stamina, Sherlock.  I’m an old man, remember.”

 

“Quit, the both of you,” Mary chided playfully.  She swatted John’s arse lightly.  “Come on.  Up you get.Let’s go get cleaned up.”

 


End file.
